


Make wine from your tears

by Builder



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BAMF Claire Temple, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Stitches, Vomiting, one of those where Matt needs Claire to patch him up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 13:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “It’s too early for this to be infected.  You’re sick, aren’t you?”___Or, Claire knows best.  And this is something Matt must learn.





	Make wine from your tears

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

“I know this is weird,” Claire says.  “But you have to sit still.”

Weird barely begins to cut it.  Matt sits uncomfortably, his head tipped back against the couch cushions, trying not to gurgle too much on the gunk in his lungs.  Claire perches practically in his lap, tending to a wound below his collarbone.  

“I’m trying,” Matt says through gritted teeth.  It’s only by grinding them together that he keeps them from chattering.  He squeezes his wadded up t-shirt in his fist, wishing he could put it back on.

“Hurts?” Claire asks as she pulls the curved needle through his skin without warning.  “Or cold?”

A hiss of pain escapes Matt’s lips.  “It’s ok,” he breathes. 

“Nice try.”  Claire makes another stitch.  “But getting stabbed in the chest.  It’s a new close call for you.”

“Hm.”  Matt’s jaw hurts from clenching his mouth shut.

“And the heat coming off you…”  Claire’s curls bounce against her shoulders as she shakes her head.  “It’s too early for this to be infected.  You’re sick, aren’t you?”

 “I’m fine,” Matt murmurs.

“Says the guy who called me at midnight because he got stabbed in the chest.”

 “Quit rubbing it in.”  It comes out a bit more tersely than he means.

“How else am I supposed to get the antibiotic cream on you?” Claire quips.  She looses a singular breath of laughter.

Matt shrugs.  It hurts, and he regrets it immediately.

“Ok, ok,” Claire says, grabbing Matt’s arm.  “I’ll dab.  You sit still.”

“Good plan,” Matt mumbles.

“Of course it is.  I thought of it.”  Claire’s grin is obvious.  “Unlike going out and kicking criminal ass when you’re already hacking up a lung.”

As soon as she says it, Matt’s chest burns with the urge to cough.  He takes in a long, slow breath and presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  The tickle in his throat doesn’t go away, and he brings hand up between Claire and the half-stitched wound to warn her that he needs a second. 

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to jinx you.“ 

Matt coughs into his fist.  Pressure shifts behind his forehead, and for a second he’s swimming in vertigo.  Then the pain from the wound on his chest lights up again, and everything balances out.  

“I can hear the mucous in your lungs,” Claire says.  “You’re halfway to pneumonia, Matt.  You’ve got to learn to take it easy.”

“Well, you know me,” Matt replies lamely.  His head throbs with aftershocks from the coughing fit, and when the needle pierces his skin again, it sends prickles down his arms and up to his jaw.  He breathes out slowly and tries not to flinch.

“Sorry,” Claire says.  “I probably have…three more?” she guesses.  “What did he cut you with, anyway?  A butcher knife?”

“Something like that,” Matt murmurs.  The dizziness begins to crystallize as nausea at the base of his throat. 

“You doing alright?”  Claire’s needle pricks his skin again.  “Let me know if you need a break.”

“Just…finish it,” Matt breathes.

“You sure?  ‘Cause you’ve just gone a frankly worrying shade of pale.”

Matt inclines his head to the side as a pseudo-shrug and forces himself to swallow.  Bitterness seeps back up over his tongue.  

“Whatever,” Claire sighs.  “You’re a masochist, you know that?” 

“Naw.  Just Catholic.”  Matt’s voice hitches as his throat goes into full contraction. 

“Which is totally why you’re sucking it up and not communicating with me.”  Claire pauses after she completes the stitch.  “If you’re gonna barf, give me some warning.”

His frantic swallow is useless against the inevitable.  “Uh.  Claire?” Matt manages to choke against the rising bile. 

“Yeah, ok.”  The sofa cushions jostle as Claire moves sideways out of the way.  She cups one gloved hand over his collarbone to protect the wound and shoves a towel into his chest with the other. 

Matt gags, scrabbling at the arm of the couch to ground himself.  There’s nothing to purge but spit and acid, but it doesn’t stop Matt’s body from heaving painfully.  Strings dangle from his lips and stick to his chin. 

“Alright, take it easy.”  Claire wipes the towel over Matt’s mouth before he’s finished hacking.  “No wonder you’ve got the shakes.  When’s the last time you ate?”

“It’s…not a priority right now,” Matt rasps.  Clammy sweat drips down his temple. 

“Well, it needs to be, if you want to get better.”  Claire changes her gloves with a rubbery snap.  She touches the line of stitches, and Matt does his best not to flinch.  “You good for one more?” 

“Yeah.”  The residual nausea crashing around Matt’s skull dulls the pain of the needle to almost imperceptible. 

“You’ve got to work on your poker face,” Claire says as she finishes the stitch and cuts the thread. 

“Good thing I don’t play.”  Matt’s mouth waters sickeningly again.  He tips his head back and breathes slowly through his nose.  It turns out to be a bad idea; he smells blood and iodine and bile, and this time there’s no time to do anything but jerk forward in his seat before the dry heaves take over again.

“Jesus, Matt.”  Claire slaps a gauze pad over the sutures and pats him on the back.  She seems to have given up on trying to contain Matt’s vomit.  Or resigned to the fact that he’s barely bringing anything up.

“I don’t know…why this is happening…” Matt whispers between heaves.  “I normally have…better control.”

“I know you do,” Claire says sympathetically.  “You don’t have to explain.”

Matt opens his mouth again, but quickly shuts it when his shoulders shudder with another fruitless heave. 

“You don’t have to apologize either.”  Claire tapes the gauze in place and gingerly gets to her feet.  She drops a clean towel into Matt’s lap and starts sweeping things off the coffee table. 

“Hm.”  Matt wants to smile, but the lower half of his face is heavy and numb. 

“Now, I’d love to give you some ibuprofen for that fever, but I think we’ll have to work on hydration first,” Claire says.  “You want to try some ginger ale?  Or start with water?”

“I…ugh.”  Matt scrubs a hand down the side of his face.

“Hey, pick one or I’m picking for you.”

“That’s fine,” Matt says.  “You probably know better than I do.” 

Claire laughs from the direction of the kitchen.  “What was that?”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches.  “I’m not gonna say it again.”

 


End file.
